


trademarks of homosexuality or, nine times curt and owen's gaydar was broken and one time it wasn't

by mjolnirdork



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Comfort No Hurt, Drabble, Gay, Happy, M/M, No Angst, No Smut, i love them, owen and curt, these morons, they're gay and they don't know it, they're okay here bbs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:07:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26719537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjolnirdork/pseuds/mjolnirdork
Summary: curt and owen being textbook gays
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 31
Kudos: 84





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> mo sees ancient text displaying warning signs of gay, mo immediately turns it into fic, what crimes will they commit

1

_Is too “nice” to be true._

If it weren’t for the quick shout and tackling to the ground, Curt would probably be on the receiving end of the surprise bullet spray instead of the wall of crates his partner crashed them behind. The thought is mildly disturbing. 

“Are you alright, love?” Owen asks, keeping one hand on his gun and one hand on Curt’s shoulder, a bit bruised from the sudden impact. His face is cool and professional, his always perfect hair is only slightly ruffled up, his eyes are twinkling bright hazel, and they just survived their first near-death experience.   
Curt offers a shaky grin. “I’ll live.” He welcomes the warmth of his partner’s hand, shivering only a slight bit in the cold Moscow air seeping through the factory they were infiltrating. “You didn’t have to do that, you know,” he adds, collecting his gun scattered on the ground. “I could’ve made it.” It’s a lie, they both know, so it’s harmless to tell.

Owen scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I trust your competence, Mega. I just happen to trust my own a little more.”  
“Jerk.” Curt scans the place looking for a way out.  
“Moron.” Owen mirrors him on the other side.  
“Showoff.” The sources of the bullets show themselves and start spreading out.  
“Hero complex.” More of the nefarious foes are closing in, it looks serious.  
“HEY-”  
Owen tugs Curt’s hand and they run out of the building with a few bullets left to spare. 

Conveniently, the timer on the bombs they implanted stops ticking.

“We did it,” Curt pants, staring back at the fresh pile of rubble burning before them. “We did it.”  
“We did it,” Owen repeats, slumping onto the colder ground. “Now to wait for our agencies to yell at us and ship us elsewhere.”  
“Ah, cheer up, old pal.” 

They sit beside each other comfortably, neither one having anywhere else they particularly want to go. In a few moments the quiet will all be gone and another mission will take precedence but right now, right now is their moment.

“I could’ve died,” Curt muses, mind scanning the last five hours. “You were on the opposite side of the building. You really didn’t have to do that for me, Owe. But you did.” He looks across at his partner, just as suddenly quiet and observing as he is now. “Why?”  
Owen’s eyes dim into a soft glow. “I’m not gonna stand and watch my partner fall, you know that. If you have to jump into something stupid, the least I can do is follow.”  
“Huh.” Curt responds softly. “Thanks.”  
“Of course love.” A hint of amusement spreads on Owen’s face. “Besides, someone has to keep you from making a fool out of yourself half the time.”  
“That’s so nice of you, so nice.”

They smile at each other a little longer than necessary, but neither comment on it as the cars start coming to take them in. Instead they pat each other’s shoulder and stand up.

“Why only half the time?”  
“Because. The other half is simply too amusing to try to stop.”  
“ _Owen_ \--”  
The twinkle steals back into those hazel eyes. “I’m your friend, how could I otherwise?”

They laugh, and a ruined building smolders in their wake.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh ho ho? two guys sitting at a party, literally five inches from each other because they're homies? 
> 
> we love to see it, don't we

2  
  


_Wants to spend time with you alone._

Spies don’t celebrate, at least, not often. When they do they blow near off half the budget, a third of the liquor stores in Paris, and a few brains (real or not undecided). It’s a hell of a time, and the agencies have some seven hells worth of people. Hence a celebration.

“What, I get Susan to arrange all of this lovely fuckery and you’re just sulking in the corner with hard liquor?”

Cynthia Houston, head of the American Secret Service and co-owner of the only brain cells floating around the agency demands to know, high heels clicking furiously against the recently polished floor. Her hands curl around a stem of red wine and dainty promise to shred into whatever unfortunate soul dares to cross her. She takes a sip and nods at the soul in question. “For a guy that complains about work so damn much, you sure don’t know how to have fun.”

“What makes you say that?” Curt Mega tugs on a jet black tie and nurses his drink. “I’m soaking up the atmosphere.” His eyes search the crowded room for someone, but reluctantly rest on an unimpressed Houston.

“You’re soaking up all the alcohol and sweat is what you’re doing,” she informs him, taking out a cigarette to light up. “I promised your mother to get you into some fun society. Don’t show me up or I’ll make sure you don’t ever again. Go dance with someone, talk up a storm, make a fool outta yourself, _do something_.”  
“If I wait long enough I’ll find it,” he replies smoothly, pulling at the cuffs of his suit jacket. “Time is on my side.”  
“What the hell could you possibly be waiting for?”

She takes a drag, letting out a long stream of smoke with her exhale. A few pairs around them dancing cough a little bit and move away, giving the boss and agent an indiscreet bubble of space. Curt gets antsy and leans on a leg.

“Uh… the right partner?”

Almost as if he sealed fate with those words, a door opens amid all the commotion. A thin man walks in, greeting a few people here and there, hiding in the background as his eyes search the room as well. In a moment they fall on Curt, widening in recognition. Curt nods at the figure in the distance and releases a tension he didn’t know he had.

Cynthia observes this whole exchange with a raised eye and a dry humor.  
“The right partner.”  
“Yeah.” 

It’s a pity Curt’s too engrossed in the distance to appreciate the murderous look on Cynthia’s face. She turns and leaves without her standard goodbye consisting of a string of curses and a bullet to a chest. “Go get the girl, Mega,” is what she says instead.

Curt sighs. “It’s… not really a--”  
“My god, Curt, it’s a fucking expression. Accept it for what it is, you dimwitted imbecile acolyte.” Cynthia leaves without further discussion.

Curt accepts her affectionate farewell and steps toward the man in his sight, dodging various dancing couples and servers with food and what feels like the whole world till finally, finally, he’s in breathing space with the horribly handsome looking (tonight especially, god) man from 5 minutes ago.

“I didn’t think you’d make it,” Curt greets frankly, taking in the sight.  
“I didn’t think I’d find you here,” Owen answers, warm hazel eyes scanning the place before resting on Curt’s pleasantly received face. “So what’ve you done with the night so far?”

Curt doesn’t answer. Instead he takes Owen’s hand and leads him through the complicated jungle of people. They weave in and out, holding hands and dancing along till Owen spots a table for two resting along the back for them to drop into.

“That was stressful,” Curt comments, lifting a snagged drink to his lips and downing half of it in one gulp.  
Owen ignores this slightly worrying feat in favor of propping his chin on his fists. “You still haven’t answered me, love.”  
Curt points to his drink. “This isn’t enough of an answer?”   
“Mmmm… considering I saw you getting an earful or two from dear old Houston, also in the back, inactive… no, not really.”  
“Dammit.” Curt scrambles for an acceptable lie, much to Owen’s humor. “Uh…” He gives up after a hot minute. “I was waiting.”  
Owen glances around at the lively room, then back at Curt, eyes smiling. “But for what? This place is crowded. So much life.”  
Curt offers a static smile. “Yeah, I can see. But, uh, I was waiting for.. uhm. You.”  
“Oh- _oh_.”   
“Yeah.”   
Owen’s eyes blink in surprise. “That’s... kind, love.”  
The look on his face hints at a different sentiment.

Curt wants to clear things up to make it easier on them both, but it’s a party, and they’re finally alone, and to be honest, whatever’s on Owen’s mind, Curt isn’t disagreeing.  
“It just makes sense, after all,” he still tries to save, “Can’t ditch my partner before he shows up, yeah?”   
Owen chuckles. “You’re something else, Mega.” His smile shortens to a soft hint on his face. “Thank you.”  
“It’s what friends do, Owe,” Curt says, grateful the sentiments are appreciated. He finds a server to get some drinks for them both. Within an hour they join the celebration from the privacy of their own company.

“Curt?” Owen drawls some hours later, 6 drinks into a happy stupor. He leans over Curt and sways more than a little, a usually reserved and quiet spy now giddy and relaxed for once. Curt is too.  
“Yeah?”  
“I was waiting for you too.”  
“Really?”  
“Real-” Owen burps. How rude. Neither one is sober enough to call it out. He continues. “Really.”  
They gaze intently into each other's eyes, then break into laughter and raise their cups again.

The head of A.S.S glances at the couple in the back and rolls her eyes; these fucking stupid parties only get more and more goddamned sappy with every time they put one on.

She makes a mental note to get Susan to arrange another one for the end of the year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you didn't get the reference i snuck in the middle i will in fact cry


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and they were ROOMATES
> 
> yes i know the quality of these is going down what about it

3 **  
**

_Proposes you be roommates and sleep in the same bed._

“You’re kidding me,” Curt manages to say. 

He fidgets in Cynthia’s office, tapping his thigh anxiously. The woman herself is missing from this debriefing; instead, her assistant, Susan, hands the documents and details with the same gravity and none of the common intent to kill, which is the one good takeaway from the whole thing.

“Nope.” Susan pushes up their glasses and taps the manila folder. “The budget for this mission is gonna be tight so Barb has funds to produce the tools you guys need to actually get work done.”  
“Yeah, yeah, I got that part,” Curt waves his hand dismissively, combing through his hair. “What I don’t get is why Owen and I need to share a whole room for six months.” The budget can’t be _that_ tight. 

Although, if the stakes weren’t as high, rooming with the agent from MI6 wouldn’t be the worst thing to ever happen--

“Well, nobody said you _had_ to,” Susan ventures, tilting their head to the side. “You could also get two absolutely shitty rooms that will probably be as much trouble as finishing the job, but hey, everyone deserves their privacy.”  
Curt sighs. “So the only other option is sharing a room?”  
“A significantly more tolerable space, yeah. No Ritz, but no rats either.”  
“Gross. You know what? Fine.” Curt moves for the phone resting on the desk. “Let me call Carvour. If he isn’t hating the idea, then we can move forward.”  
Susan chuckles, giving Curt space. “You two are scared of each other sleeping that much?”  
“Not at-” Curt freezes for a moment.

Sharing a room with Owen. Laughing over dinner at some random thing that happened in the day. Talking about non-spy, non near death experiences. Listening to the radio. Throwing pillows at each other for no good reason. Falling asleep next to each other.

“-all,” he finishes after what feels like an eternity. 

Suddenly he wasn’t hating the budget cut as much as he thought he would. 

Susan smiles politely and walks away. “Good luck, agent.”  
“Yeah, you too.” Curt shakes his head, as if that would jostle the thoughts running through his mind, and dials Owen’s number.

“Hello?” A familiar voice crackles on the line.  
“Carvour, you limey bastard.” Curt’s smile breaks into a grin at the audible rolling of eyes on the other end.  
“And what do you want now?” Typical Owen.  
“You wound me, pal.” Curt does his best to sound sad and forlorn. “And I was just here to fill you in on an update on the mission. Shame.”  
“My apologies for hurting your pride, love, now what the fuck are you talking about?”

Curt checks over the files and reads off of them to his partner. There’s a feeling of dread in his stomach, but he’s not sure why it’s there. What’s to be afraid of? It’s just Owen.

It’s just Owen.

“So you called me because..?”  
“I wanted to know your thoughts,” Curt answers, hoping his voice sounds as casual as he’s willing it to be. “Don’t want to do something you’re uncomfortable with. Six months is a long time.”

  
Owen’s quiet for a moment. “I’m comfortable with you, Mega. If you think it would be better to room together for the mission, then I fully support it.”  
“Really?” That went easier than expected.  
“It is what we’re doing, yes?”  
“Of course.” Some of the dread fades away, and Curt smiles again. “Well, I’ll see you in a week, partner.”  
“Not if I see you first.”

Curt places the phone back on its receiver, nodding his head in surprise. Well. 

They land in confidential locations, meeting up at the airport and discreetly hailing a cab together.  
“You are brothers?” the cab driver asks casually, as the American and the Brit place themselves in the back of the car. They’re quick to deny this.

“Oh, god, no,” Owen says instantly, right before Curt can correct this sadly mistaken thinking with an “absolutely not”. They glance at each other, then back at the confused driver.  
“We’re… really good friends.”   
“Partners.” Curt adds, nodding his head.  
“Partners… yes, of course. That.” Owen agrees, turning back to look at Curt with a sheepish smile. Curt returns it, and the two are slow to break eye contact.  
“Hm.” The cab driver nods and drives them to their hotel.

“Partners,” Curt repeats a few minutes later as they check in and take the elevator to their room.  
“Partners.” Owen follows, tugging on their luggage as they wait the rest of the ride in ~~awkward~~ amicable silence.  
Neither of them can figure out why any other terms of relationship seem wrong to use, and neither of them have the energy to do so.

“Home sweet home,” Curt murmurs, taking out the key and turning the lock.

The door opens to a small square room with one bed shoved to the side, flickering lights welcoming the two spies. That, aside from two chairs, a table, a lamp, a fan, and a phone, are all the furnishings in the place.

“Oh.” Owen says. It’s all he can say at first.

Curt helps the two of them in, closing the door. They get as settled as they can in such a small space, but eventually one of them has to say it.

“I can sleep on the floor,” he tells Owen, just as Owen tugs on the hem of his shirt and mumbles “I’ve got the floor, love”. 

They stop each other mid sentence and chuckle.

“This is gonna be a long six months,” Curt sighs, tugging his suit jacket off and reaching for a more comfortable shirt. He doesn’t think about Owen watching him from the other side until he does, and then he doesn’t think about how he just thought about that. It’s what friends do, right?  
“Indeed, but you don’t have to suffer,” Owen replies, unaware of Curt’s train of thought. “I’ve got it.”  
“No way,” Curt frowns. “You and your stick frame on a wooden floor? Not on my watch.”  
“That’s flattering. At least we wouldn’t be stuck with you complaining about how uncomfortable stretching would be,” Owen retorts, smirking a little as Curt throws a rolled up sock at his face. It hits his forehead and drops on the floor. “That’s professional, dear.”

“It’s times like these I hate you.” Curt slumps against the wall, eyebrows knitting in concentration. Owen sits beside him and watches, amused.  
“You could just let me win this one, dear.”  
“You could just appreciate that I’m trying to make this better for you.”  
“So heroic.”  
“Ah, shut up.” Curt lifts his head up, scanning the place. 

His eyes rest on the bed, the only thing that seems fairly properly sized, making everything else seem small in comparison. They turn to the stupidly perfectly styled brown haired, brown eyed man beside him, waiting on his next words like there was enough time to wait. It made him smile.

“Going to admit defeat, Mega?”  
“Nope. I’m going, ah, fuck it, we’re already sharing a room, let’s toss in the bed while we’re at it.” Curt straightens a bit. “Unless you don’t want to, of course. I could stay here.”

He watches for Owen’s reactions, feeling a bit confused when Owen does the same sizing up of the bed, and then of Curt, and then back to the bed, and then back at Curt again, and then matching him in slightly nervous smiles.

“Why not,” Owen says complacently.  
Curt jolts. “You what?”

Now is a good time to, in fact, admit he was totally bullshitting that proposition and didn’t expect a legit answer. A room was one thing, but god, a bed? 

“It’s not like there’s anything bad or especially good. It’s just you,” Owen reasons, more to himself than to the two of them. “Two friends sharing a bed. What could go wrong?”

They look at each other, waiting. 

“Alright.”

Slowly, they get up, make their way to the bed, grab the pillows closest to them, and instantly wage war. 

“Six whole months dealing with you,” Owen mutters, half asleep on the left side, shoulder unnecessarily close to Curt’s, but neither comments on it, they’re too tuckered out from their short bit of child’s play.  
“Yay us,” Curt says on his side, breathless from the pillow fight. And maybe something more. Not gonna think about that tonight. “Goodnight Owen.”  
“Goodnight Curt.”

In the span of the night, both men close their eyes and their breaths even out, but though neither one will admit it, it feels like their hearts are racing.

Curt gives one last look at Owen sleeping beside him, and he closes his eyes smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mo with these prompts, what crimes will they commit


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> owen and curt are saps who need therapy and barb deserves better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for light mentions of anxiety, addiction, and suicidal idealization. it isn't extremely bad, i just wanted to put it up so nobody gets thrown in for a loop. 
> 
> also barb content because i say so <3

**4  
**

_Writes you love notes as to a sweetheart._

Barb Larvenor is the brain and willpower of the American Secret Service. This fact may come as a shock given how especially oblivious she is at any given moment. 

“Hi Curt!” she chirps, catching up to the man after a couple futile attempts to track him down. Her keys jingle out of her pocket, which is stuffed with other strange gadgets and her glasses, and those are prone to falling out any time now. Her snappy high heels click happily on the floors of headquarters’ third floor, and she’s carrying a giant stack of papers. 

Curt turns around and offers a slight smile. He may as well have stopped at turning his head; the action is enough to knock Barb over on two firm feet. She grins wider now, and perhaps blushes, but neither is uncommon enough to be mentioned. 

“What are you doing out of your lab?” he asks, amusedly. Barb crushing hopelessly on him has been a comfortable fact of life since working for the agency, but seeing the head scientist out of her natural habitat to do so? That was new.  
“I know right, it’s so strange being out in the real world!” she gushes, finding a table to drop her papers on. She waves her hand dismissively at Curt’s confused expression. “I’m messing with you.”

“Ah,” Curt raises his eyebrows in understanding. He awkwardly moves to the side as Barb rifles through her death stack of files and pulls out a thin envelope. His raised eyebrows shift to surprise. The stamp is British, the handwriting is precise, and the name--

“Owen Carvour. All the way from England. Isn’t that something?” Barb marvels, holding out the letter for Curt to take. “No, Mega, I didn’t search through your mail,” she adds at Curt’s instant pause of hesitation, “god knows how disorderly and sad it is. It ended up in mine.” she pats the giant stack as explanation. “I thought maybe you’d like it if it got to you in person.” 

The very adorable look on her face is hard to miss, but while one of the cleaning guys at the back of the hall is so starstruck they run into the wall, Curt sees nothing. She sighs. Typical.

“That would be how it happened,” Curt agrees, flipping the envelope in his hand. “Thanks for coming all the way over here, you must’ve been all over the place.” He looks up and smiles, a real smile, not just a smile of tolerance and reluctant acceptance, and Barb has beaten anyone attempting a trip to the moon. “I was on the roof, got really checked out.”  
“What were you doing on the roof?”

He pauses.   
The question is innocent.   
The answer is complicated.   
And he really just wants to read this letter now.  
“Sky was pretty?” he offers, not wanting to delve further.   
It’s good enough for Barb. “Really? I guess I’ll have to head there after I drop off all these files,” she responds, picking up the humongous pile of papers. “Which reminds me I should be heading on my way. Nice to see you Mega!”  
“Uh, you too, Larvenor.”

He has the politeness to keep his head up and wave her goodbye, wishing her a nonexplosive day in the labs. She leaves with her whole week made, he ducks into his office trying to suppress his emotions, and the letter is waiting to be opened.

Owen’s written on some fancy aged paper, with a fountain pen, and more words than Curt reads in his briefings, the way he always does. Curt leans back in his chair and revels in the lines.

_Dear Curt,_

_It’s been a month since I last saw you. Damn. Well, if this arrives when it should, you’ll only have to wait till the end of this one before I arrive to remind you of the superior agent in this risky business. No pressure of course._

Curt chuckles. No pressure his ass. 

_England’s great, people apologize after bumping into each other, the tea remains so much better, and would you believe it? I miss you something intolerable. The day you come over and I can actually show you around and not keep forgetting that you aren’t next to me will be a truly happy one. Hurry it up a bit, can you?_

Owen Carvour, the most dedicated friend in the world, ladies, gents, and otherwise. 

_Work proceeds as usual. Got partnered up with someone new lately. He’s skilled, but I have to make up for the both of us and that’s a bit draining. He’s not you though, so that’s an immediate comfort._

Dammit Owen. 

Curt quickly scans through the paragraphs, laughing at funny happenings, grinning widely at Owen’s descriptions of things, and only occasionally cursing his partner’s high praise of him throughout the letter. 

He’s about to prepare a reply as he gets near the end, and then, he’s not sure what to reply after all.

_I’ve been thinking, when I can. It seems it’s all I can do when I’m not in high action. Has anyone mentioned how much it hurts? I don’t like it, Curt, it scares me. The world is horrible and we’re some of the people who’ve seen most of it to tell, and what do we do to help it? Make it more dangerous for ourselves and everyone around us. That’s morbid, isn’t it? I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m writing this late at night, and all the soul harrowing thoughts come at this time. My fault, as it seems everything is._

Oh. Owen...

_And I feel like nothing will be alright again and I’m the cause, and logically that can’t be plausible. Can it? god I hope not. But how else can I describe the madness in my mind? I can understand why you’re so fond of alcohol, Curt. Keeps your brain from failing like mine is. I hope for your sake it works. I don’t know what I can do for mine. Preferably never use it again, but I won’t get that, will I? Not in this lifetime._

_Now that’s depressing, and I’ll stop before I talk too much. Write back and tell me how irrational I am, I’d love to hear from you again, old boy. And be nice to Barb, alright? Lord knows what might be driving her insane. Couldn’t be you, of course._

_Much love, O.C_

Curt’s eyes read over this again and again. His mind goes to the stocked liquor cabinet he manages to get in every single safe house, the way he shuts down when Cynthia’s been especially hard on him, going up to the roof today and fantasizing too much about hitting the ground below. 

He thinks and he thinks. And he thinks that Owen’s right. And he wishes it was just him that had to think all of it too. 

With a heavy hand and a lighter pen, he reaches for a sheet of paper and starts to write back.

_Dear Owen,_

_Much love to you too, you stubborn son of an anarchist._

Curt finishes his letter and decides to go share some of the more general, humorous news to the gushy scientist of the A.S.S, if not to at least make her smile. And he thinks that he’ll do it for his British partner too, as soon as they’re together again. 

Maybe then his own mind will be at ease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me? projecting? hahah couldn't imagine anyway come back for more gay oblivious spies bye


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> three gays get drunk and think about their love lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY i hope you liked this i didn't edit this at all god have mercy on my crack soul

**5  
**

_Directs the conversation to intimate matters._

Three spies walk into a bar.   
Two of them glare at the other before they even sit down. 

“Curt, we talked about this, yes?” the Russian narrows her eyes, directing herself, the guilty party in question, and a sympathetic Owen towards a table. “Don’t go drinking for the three of us. I do not want to drag your corpse inside your mother’s home another time.”  
Curt nods sheepishly, letting a soft chuckle under his breath. “Don’t worry, Tati, I’ll be fine. Besides, I’ve got the both of you to yell at me otherwise.”  
“You bet your arse we will love,” Owen adds to the conversation, fist bumping Tatiana as Curt mock frowns at them both. “Let’s just spend the night relaxing. That mission was hell.”  
“Awesome, I’ll drink to that.”  
“ _Curt._ ”  
“What?”

They find seats and start chattering, the music in the bar coming on low and soft. It’s a half house, just empty enough to have some peace and privacy, and just crowded enough to blend in seamlessly. For one night they aren’t three highly praised, high risk agents with troubling history just coming in from a strenuous mission nearly gone wrong. They’re Owe, Tati, and Curt, three work friends, who just so happen to have scanned the establishment twice each and checked their weapons thrice, having a bit of fun for the weekend.

Naturally, they come very close to getting wasted. It’s the weekend, after all.

“So did you do it?” Tati asks loudly an hour later, her usually ice cold demeanor somewhat softened with a good meal, a good drink, and an utterly horrible tale of espionage coming from Owen’s loosened tongue.   
“I don’t want to hear this!” Curt protests, which instantly goes ignored.  
Owen lets his head sway, laughing heavily. “It would take a lot for me to make out with a young widow on the job, Tatiana. Even if she did have a lot of intel and was the leader of the mafia.”  
“That doesn’t answer the question, Carvour.”  
“For fuck’s sake, Tati--” Curt gets his face palmed by the redhead while Owen winks, downs a shot, and leaves the topic.

“Imagine having someone waiting for you romantically on one of these helljobs,” he wonders instead. “I couldn’t do it.”  
“Or meeting someone on the job?” Curt returns, straightening his slumped over position. He digs into untouched dessert, not noticing Owen’s soft expression directed at him. “Committing that much while you could die any second? No way. Hell, even getting some is hard as a spy. It’s tough business.”  
“Ah, you haven’t found the right girl yet, I’ll bet.” Owen nods at Tatiana. “Am I right?”  
Tatiana pauses for a moment, taking a sip of her drink. She’s quieter this time. 

“I suppose. Personally, I’ve never wanted… that, from anyone. Male or otherwise.”  
“Or otherwise?” Curt looks up from a polished off plate.

If it weren’t for the empty bottles around them, it would be hard to tell that Tatiana was drinking at all. She shifts into a more serious position while still being casual and laid back., reaching for her fork and poking around at crumbs on her plate. Owen and Curt admire that skill individually while wondering the cause for it. 

“I have to be seductive, sometimes, on these missions,” she says, her face clouding. Owen pats her hand in understanding, and she returns the gesture. “I’m good at it. They’re stupid men and it is a simple task.” Some of the gray fades away from her face, and she looks up, more in confusion than anything. “But they’re very beautiful men, yet… how do you say? I couldn’t care less.”

Curt and Owen look at each other in their partially drunk state, then back at their friend. She eyes the room warily, but continues, probably thanks to the liquor relaxing her usually on edge nerves. 

“I thought, for a moment, that maybe it was because I liked women,” she mutters, just loud enough for their ears.   
All three instantly hope nobody else has heard. 

Curt squeezes Tatiana’s other hand, which she flicks away affectionately. “Was it?” he asks without a hint of judgment. Her demeanor lightens at his encouragement.

“See, that is what I do not understand.” Tatiana takes a shot, and then slams it on the table. “I wouldn’t be happy with a man. Perhaps with a woman. But never in that way. I have no desire for it.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Is it a problem? Is it due to my training? To only want intimacy for your mind?”

They collectively take a sip as the question hangs on all of them. Curt keeps glancing at Owen, and he dismisses the fact that Owen’s doing the same.

“I think you’re perfectly alright, dear,” Owen finally says, looking up at Curt’s-- and now his-- friend, a small smile on his face. “Who cares who you end up with and how you do? Isn’t it enough that you trust someone that much to want to be with them in any deeper way?”  
Tatiana holds her glass in her hands, hesitant. “It’s only me who feels like this,” she says softly.  
Curt reaches for his glass. “Hey, me too, Tati. At least on the zero interest in flirting and mind stuff.” He tacks on the last bit at her extremely confused face. “But I mean… it’s not that hopeless. There’s gotta be someone out there.”  
“Like who?”

He looks around for an answer, though he knows it isn’t in the bar they’re in. He tries to scan his lethargic mind, there’s nothing. Finally his eyes rest on the man beside him, and he smiles. There it is.

“You need to find your Owen, Tati,” Curt tells her, proud of this for no specific reason. 

She tilts her head amusedly, more at Owen’s instant scoffing than at Curt’s declaration. “Are you each other’s then? Is that what this means?”

“No way! But... yes?” Curt shakes his head, the alcohol is getting to him at last. “You know what I mean. Someone who can take the world with you and shit.” He nudges Owen. “That’s this guy right here. Your Owen.”  
His Owen puts an arm around him and rolls his eyes warmly. “Ah yes, Tatiana. Your Curt. That one person that grates on your nerves and ruins your life and who you can’t live without. That’s exactly what you need with our line of work.”

“I do NOT!”  
“Shh, love, I thought you just said?”  
“Ugh, you and your fucking cool guy attitude--  
Tatiana brings an end to the argument, shaking her head at them both.   
“It appears I’m stuck with an Owen and a Curt. In this case what I will need an early death.”

They laugh, the slight cloud on all of them fading away into a pleasantly drunken stupor, which probably means the hangovers tomorrow will be horrible, but nobody cares about that at the moment. They clear off every last bit on the table and all cash in for the check and a good tip. The bartender smiles at them gratefully as they begin to leave, all cheering on their collective bosses who forced them to finish this mission that led to this eventful night.

Three spies leave a bar.

Two of them walk close to each other, and the other one eyes them both with a smile on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tati is an ace lesbian because i say so <3 also tati and owen content because unlike the tcb, i do not care about quality at all

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to mars on the saf discord server for betating!


End file.
